


Small Time

by BNZG



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Crime Scenes, Drama, Investigations, Macro/Micro, Multi, Mystery, Police, Shrinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BNZG/pseuds/BNZG
Summary: A string of disappearances has plagued Manhattan, each without so much as a trace. As if the NYPD already hadn't had enough on their plate as is. But when one of the disappearances is detective Rick Marino's fiancee, he dives headfirst into the case, with no intention of letting it go cold.But when he begins to uncover some unconventional truths about the trail he's following, he realizes that he might have bit more than he could chew.Can Rick, and his partner Vaughn, manage to crack down on the case with their heads above the water? Or will they find themselves six feet under...or worse?





	Small Time

_**November 23, 2003**_  
  
Under the dark, midnight blue sky, Cathy lit up her first cigarette.   
  
The tattoo-artist leaned against the back wall of the Wizard's Shot Parlour and let the nicotine drift her mind away for a moment. The chilly, autumn air began to pick up the wavy plumes of smoke as she fell at ease. The hum of faraway club music and vehicles passing by only registered as white noise now. Even the stench of the nearby trashcans did little to bother her. She'd have to take them out eventually, but for now, she just needed to relax for a moment.   
  
Rarely did she have time to herself, especially since she had to pick up a second job to keep herself from drowning in debt. And, truth be told, she did regret leaving home as early as she did. Her father was right; she should have at least gone to trade school or lived with her cousin Nigel and his girlfriend in Upstate. But she had been so eager to prove her independence at the time...the thought of having to live with someone else bothered her came to her as an affront to her capabilities. And she had no interest in staying in school for  _more_ years. As if high school wasn't long enough. After all, she was moving to NYC. She'd have plenty of opportunities to whatever the hell she wanted to do.  
  
God, if she could go back in time, she would've kicked her stupid, eighteen-year-old self right in the shins.   
  
It was during introspective moments like this that she yearned to just drown out her thoughts and forget about the world around her. after all, she could do all that when she was back in her apartment and sleep it all down after her night shift at her second job.   
  
She placed the Marlboro pack back inside the pocket of her leather jacket and closed her eyes, allowing oblivion to sweep her mind.   
  
After all, she had only fifteen minutes before she had to be back inside.   
  
Just as the sweet emptiness began to engulf her, she heard a loud rattling sound to her left.   
  
Her eyes shot open when the rattling grew to a crashing sound.   
  
The trashcans that were at the corner of the building were knocked over, the contents spilled across the jagged asphalt. The lid of one of them was twirling rapidly on its handle before coming to a complete stop a few seconds later.   
  
Cathy stood dumbfounded, mouth agape and cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.   
  
After a moment of nothing else happening, she plucked the cigarette from her mouth and dropped onto the ground. Taking a moment to stomp it out, she took one last look at the fallen, tin trashcans.   
  
Against her better judgement, she slowly crept towards the corner of the building, making sure she made as little noise as possible. Her breathing was stilted and subdued, although her heart beat rapidly in her chest. the unease that was erupting within her couldn't be repressed. A contradictory cold heat began to crawl up her sternum as she neared the trash pile.   
  
Once she was there, she looked passed the cans and into the alleyway.   
  
Nothing.   
  
Nothing at all.   
  
She felt the relief take away her anxiety within that instant.   
  
It was probably the wind. It may not have been that gusty, but maybe the bins weren't that heavy to begin with. Still, it'd be a bitch to clean up the trash now.   
  
Well, she might as well go back inside to fetch some gloves and more plastic bags or something. It already reeked back here. It wou-  
  
She felt a tap on her shoulder.   
  
She froze for a moment, eyes wide in shock.   
  
With a gasp she turned around.   
  
And then there was a bright, white light.   
  


\----- 

The camera flashed, and Chris took the photo from the lower side, taking a moment to observe it. 

Closer to the door, one of the four officers and other tattoo-artist, Cade McCullough, spoke to each other. 

"I swear, I had no idea," the thirty-something-year-old man sputtered, his multicolored dreads swishing around his face, "Like, literally, I thought she was in the bathroom for the longest time, just taking a shit or something. I didn't realize she was actually  _gone_ gone until I found out it was empty." 

Rick Marino tried not get distracted the long blue, green and purple dreads, or the sizable ear gauges and black and red roman numeral tattoos on his cheeks. And so far, he was doing a pretty good job. He could tell Cade was from the Bronx from his accent alone, and he had no doubt in his mind that he probably used to shoot up heroin in his past from his spotted skin and sunken eyes. At least the tattoos actually did a pretty good job at hiding how much wrinklier his skin probably was now. 

Rick, pen and notepad in hand, jot down a few notes before looking him back in the eye. "So, did you ever actually knock on the door to check?" 

   
Cade scoffed, " _Heeeeell no._ I ain't rude. I mean, if she's gotta go, she's gotta go. Would  _you_ knock on the bathroom door t' check up on a lady? Bet your ass you wouldn't. She'd knock the piss outta youse if you tried. Besides, she usually doesn't stay out long t' smoke so I thought, 'where else could she be?' I mean, if she wanted to go out, she'd lemme know, so I thought she couldn't be anywhere else."   
  
"And when did you find out she wasn't there?"   
  
"When  _I_ had to use the shitter! I knocked on the door to hurry her the fuck on when I realized nobody was in d'ere." Cade went on, glancing at the fallen trashcans, "I came back out here when I thought that she might have wandered off somewhere. Probably went to a vending machine to get a soda or something. But I didn't see her anywhere so I figured she just up and left. I mean, she's done that before if we have nobody around. Which is, like, all the time now that three of our workers left last year."   
  
Rick quickly wrote down what the parlor owner said, before taking another sweep around the outside. "Alright, well...let's head back inside since it's cold as hell out here. How's that sound?"   
  
"Sounds hella nice, if you ask me," he replied brusquely, not even waiting for the officer to fully open the heavy, steel door for him to slide in past him.   
  
Rick gave the older man a derisive look before muttering, "Rude," going in behind him.   
  
The Wizard's Shot was pretty small, even by most tattoo parlor standards. The interior of the parlor had brick walls covered with an artistic graffiti style all around, with bright neon lights highlighting the crannies and corners all around. The floor, in contrast to the bright walls, were made of solid ebony tiles with a partition separating the back of the room and the shelves that contained several inking tools. In a way, the interior looked significantly less edgier than the ones he passed by on his way home to work.   
  
And much gaudier.   
  
He wisely kept that particular thought to himself.   
  
"So, am I okay then?"   
  
Rick rose an eyebrow as the other man turned to face him. He immediately picked up on how antsy the owner had became.   
  
"I'm okay then, right?" The man repeated, the man rubbing his wrist anxiously. "Like, you guys ain't suspecting me, right?"    
  
"What are you talking about?" Rick asked, mouth pinching into a small smile.   
  
"You know, I had nothin' to do with her being gone now, you know? Like, if I knew, I'd've called you all sooner. Jus' makin' sure y'all know that. I don' wanna go back t' jail on false charges and shit again. Last time one of your men came here, they searched my place thinking I kept drugs up in here. I already did it for dopin' and ain't nobody believe me when I said I'm clean and s-"   
  
"No one's suspecting you, Mr. McCullough," Rick lied. "We just need to get everyone's alibis and then we'll be out of your hair."   
  
The aforementioned man seemed to search the officer's eyes before sighing. "Just...when can I open back up again?"   
  
"We'll give this place a once over. Then, you can open it back up whenever you feel you can."   
  
"Yo, Rikki Tickki Tavi, come here for a sec," came a third voice.   
  
The detective's attention was diverted when he saw his partner signal for him to come to the front door. Rick placed his notepad and pen back into one of his vest pockets before walking towards him, noticing that his face was mostly neutral as can be, a telltale sign that there wasn't much evidence to be had at the time being.   
  
"Got nothing?"   
  
"Nope," Vaughn answered, holding up her purse and the plastic bag containing her Nokia cell. "All her things are in there: wallet, ID, money, train pass...so far, nothing seemed to be missing. Probably a pack of cigarettes if she was smoking, but I can't see many psychos going out of their way to kill or steal something like that from her. Plus, the cameras didn't show much. She walked into a blind spot, out of sight and then...gone, but get this..." he said, pointing to the still overturned trashcans that were being examined by Reynaldo. "In the video, she was looking at the trash. Her head just snapped towards them, and then she started walking to them. We think she saw  _something_ there. Forensics is on there way so..."  
  
"Gotcha," Rick replied before turning back to the tattoo-artist who stared at the two warily, "Mr. McCullough, we'll be taking all of the security tapes back with us. Just stay here for the next crew, and then you can head home for the day."   
  
"Okay, okay..." he said tiredly, his eyes unable to remain in one spot. Rick looked away from him. While he seemed awfully suspicious, his gut feeling was telling him that he was probably innocent and just nervous. "Damn, I'm tired..." he muttered before taking a seat on one of the wooden chairs in the corner, rubbing his temples.   
  
"In any case," Vaughn went on, "Besides the trashcans and her hair, nothing's out've the ordinary. No sign of violence or blood as far as I can tell," the slightly shorter man's eyes narrowed, "It's shapin' up to be one of  _those_ cases."   
  
"Dammit," Rick growled, pinching his nostrils, before exhaling through his mouth. "Well, nothing we can do now til' we get back to base. Either way, I'll check the next place for foul play and tell you if there's anything weird going on."   
  
"Fine, I'll wait for Reynaldo and ask him what he's got."   
  
"Good good, I'm heading out," he told the other man before making his way out. He suddenly stopped though before he was out of arm's reach of the other officer. "Oh, and Vaughn?"   
  
"Yeah m- _ow!"  
  
_ His partner cried out and cradled the area of his shoulder his partner jabbed him at. "The  _hell_ was that for?"  
  
"For calling me Rikki Tikki Tavi in public, ya' jackass."   
  
Vaughn rubbed at his shoulder for a bit, and flashed him with a smirk. "You're a petty, lil' shit ya know."   
  
Rick grinned back, "And you're a cheeky lil' bastard, ya know."   
  
"You ain't seen cheeky yet."   
  
"Wanna another hit?"   
  
 _"Tch..._ wimp. Wait til' I tell Lauren."   
  
"Oh, bullshit."   
  
"Think I won't?"   
  
"Think I won't hit you?"   
  
"Think I won't hit you back?"   
  
"You're so petty."   
  
"Pot...meet kettle. Pot meet ke- _ow."_


End file.
